


Do Me A Favour

by hellraisin



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Natasha is perfect as always, Protective Bucky Barnes, Skinny!Steve, Star Trek References, Tolkien References, preserum!Steve, punk!bucky, they're all secretly nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellraisin/pseuds/hellraisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I appreciate the warning, Sam, but I reckon I can handle this kid.” He looks to his left to smile at Steve, who returns the sentiment.<br/>“Good,” says Natasha, bluntly, looking between the two of them. “Because if you can’t, you’ll have trouble.”<br/>“What, like an angry mob?”<br/>“Uh huh,” Sam nods. “I’ve got a pitchfork and everything.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Me A Favour

 

Steve’s minding his own business when it happens. He’s in the canteen with his nose buried in an old, torn up copy of _The Hobbit_ that he rented out from the college library, when he overhears the ruckus. Some guy, with meaty shoulders far too big for his own body, has walked up to one of the pretty blonde girls a couple of tables away, and said something inappropriate. Steve ignores it at first. He didn’t exactly catch what was said, and he highly doubts it matters. He goes back to his book.

But then the voices raise, and before he can comprehend what’s happening, he hears the guy shout, “Why won’t you sleep with me? Do you think you’re too good for me or something, you whore?”

He’s stuffed the book back into his bag before he can even stop himself. Running a hand through his mess of blond hair, he makes his way over to the guy, and taps him on the back. Meaty Shoulders can’t even feel it, but then again, Steve is ninety pounds soaking wet, and doubts his attempt at a tap on the back is quite that strong. He clears his throat and taps again a little harder, and Meaty Shoulders finally turns around, looking Steve up and down like he’s just crawled up out of the dirt.

“Can I help you?” he grunts, folding his brutish arms across his chest.

“Not particularly, but you can leave this girl alone,” Steve says, unwavering.

Meaty Shoulders laughs, a deep rumble from the pit of his huge belly. “Leave her alone? What, are you in love with her or something?”

“Never met her before in my life.”

“Then why do you care?”

“Because you’re being an asshole,” Steve proclaims without a shred of fear.

The guy’s brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me,” Steve says, risking a glance to the girl who is standing behind Meaty Shoulders. She offers him a smile. “Back off.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s barely even out of the door and into the tiny outdoor alleyway between the canteen and the language department before Meaty Shoulders punches him square in the face.  The pain sears through his nose, and he feels a trickle of blood, but Steve pushes himself up from the floor regardless.

“I’m not scared of you,” he says with a shake of his head, lifting his fists up to guard his face. The resistance appears to be futile though, as Meaty Shoulders hits him in the stomach, before delivering an upper cut to the jaw. Steve doubles over, winded, and his head tilts back, before sliding down the brick wall behind him to the floor again.

Meaty Shoulders braces his hands against the wall, and kicks his foot into Steve’s stomach once, twice, three times. Steve cannot breathe. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, and his entire body is aching. “I’m sti-...still... not scared... of a b-bully like... you,” he manages to cough out.

Meaty Shoulders laughs again, and moves in for yet another punch, before Steve hears the telltale sound of a door opening.

“Hey!” shouts a voice that he doesn’t recognise, before the sound of heavy footsteps come closer and closer. “Back off, asshole,” the voice shouts, and Steve, head swimming and pain pounding through his body as he gasps for air, can only just make out the shape of another man, all in black.

“Or what?” he hears Meaty Shoulders say, but he sees the man in black punch Meaty Shoulders in the gut.

“Or you’ll be the one on your ass and bleeding in the middle of the campus. Get outta here,” the voice spits, and Meaty Shoulders must only stay for another few seconds before he scarpers, tail between his legs. 

Steve is still on the floor, trying his best to breathe, but the oxygen just won’t fight its way into his lungs. He hears the man in black say something else, but he can barely hear him – he’s panicking too much over the way his lungs are collapsing inside his chest, and he can feel his throat closing up around him. Suddenly, he is pushed forward from the wall, just slightly, and a hand is on his back, rubbing in circles.

“Easy,” says the man, who is now sitting on the floor beside him, Steve realises, when he sees a pair of black skinny jean clad legs next to his own. “Take it easy. Deep breaths. Slow breaths. It’s asthma, yeah? You got an inhaler, kid?” Steve manages to nod, and reaches into his pocket. He should have taken a puff from the inhaler sooner, but he was too choked up with panic to think. With shaky hands, he lifts the inhaler to his lips and takes a sharp, deep breath. “That’s better, right?” the man says, still rubbing Steve’s back.

It only takes Steve a few more minutes until his breathing is more or less normal, and he manages to turn to look at the guy’s face for the first time. He’s got light blue eyes that are edged with smudgy, black eyeliner, and long, messy hair, tied back into a ponytail, although there are a few loose strands that frame his face. The guy’s got a chiselled jaw, and a dimple chin, and he’s smiling with one corner of his mouth.

“Jesus, thank you,” Steve finally manages, swallowing thickly. “I’m pretty sure I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“No worries, pal,” he says, shaking his head, and holding up his other hand in defence. Steve notices that, at the end of the sleeve of the leather jacket he’s got on, he’s wearing a glove, mid-March. “Is this the first fight you’ve ever been in?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Really? Wow. Do you always put up that much of a fight-“

“-even when I know I’m gonna lose?” Steve finishes, wiping at his bloodied nose. “Yes. God knows why. But yes.”

“Well, kid, you’re certainly something,” the man says. He fumbles in his jacket pocket and pulls out a couple of unnecessary items – a pack of Marlboros, a lighter (Steve suddenly feels a little worried that this guy’s gonna light up in front of him and give him another asthma attack) – before finally producing a pack of Kleenex, and he hands one to Steve.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, mopping up the blood with one hand as he feels his nose with the other. “It’s not broken, at any rate.”

“That’s good then. At least you’ll still have your looks.”

Steve turns to look at the man, worried that he’s taunting him, but then his mouth curves up at the corner, and Steve finds himself smiling. “You’re funny,” he says, moving his left hand to extend it to the man. It’s kind of awkward to shake hands with someone sitting right beside you. “Steve Rogers.”

“James Barnes,” he says in response, shaking with his gloved hand. His smirk creeps even further up his face. “But you can call me Bucky.” 

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out that Bucky was in the languages department when he heard the fight breaking out, which is how he got there so quick. Apparently he’s doing a Russian Literature major, with minors in both French and Spanish, and he often sees Steve’s friend, Nat, in an extracurricular Russian class that he takes.

“How do you even have time for all of that?” Steve asks as he picks at the sandwich in front of him. He had sat down at his usual table with Sam and Natasha, but Bucky refused to leave him until he was sure he was alright.

“Strong will and determination,” Bucky grins.

“Oh, well, Steve knows _all_ about that,” Sam chimes in with a roll of his eyes. “He’s the king of strong will and determination.”

“I already have firsthand experience of that,” says Bucky.

“Yeah, well, you’d better get used to it.” Sam nudges gently into Steve’s side (more gently than usual, after the fight). “This kid has kinda picked you now.”

“Picked me?”

“You’re one of us now, Barnes,” Natasha says, raising one perfect eyebrow. “We are the sacred protectors of Steve Rogers and his uncontrollable ability to get into fights.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Steve interjects, but it falls on deaf ears, other than Bucky, who glances down with a soft smile on his lips.

 “Seriously, man,” says Sam, “I’m glad you saved this guy, but you’re not gonna be able to shake him off now.”

“Jesus Christ. It’s not a club of ‘sacred protectors’. Bucky did me a favour, and he’s free to go whenever he wants,” Steve points out, folding his arms across his chest.

Bucky laughs, a soft chuckle in the back of his throat. “I’m not going anywhere just yet, pal,” he says. “And I appreciate the warning, Sam, but I reckon I can handle this kid.” He looks to his left to smile at Steve, who returns the sentiment.

“Good,” says Natasha, bluntly, looking between the two of them. “Because if you can’t, you’ll have trouble.”

“What, like an angry mob?”

“Uh huh,” Sam nods. “I’ve got a pitchfork and everything.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky sits with them quite often after that. As the passing weeks go by, he spends more and more time with Steve, either in the library, or walking him back to his dorm room after his art class. It turns out that they live in the same building, just four floors up from one another. Steve likes having a new friend; likes learning new things about a new person.

Bucky’s favourite band is Led Zeppelin, his favourite film is _Casablanca_ , and his favourite book is literally anything by Stephen King.

 He likes to steal Steve’s sketching pencils when he thinks Steve isn’t looking, and his favourite past time seems to be throwing an arm across Steve’s shoulders as they head home.

He borrows _The Hobbit_ from the library after Steve turns it back in, and he finishes it in less than a day. He gives the book to Steve so he can read it again before it’s due back.

Steve is pretty sure that Bucky is perfect. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next time Steve heads out to the local bar with Sam and Natasha, Bucky joins them. Steve and Bucky walk to the bar together, seeing as they’re coming from the same place, and Bucky produces his lighter from his jacket pocket, habitually flicking the flame on and off as they walk.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, pulling away  from the topic of conversation they’d previously been on – favourite _Lord of the Rings_ characters, “I forgot you smoked.”

“Huh?” Bucky mumbles, looking over at him, before he grins with one side of his mouth. “Oh, right. No, I don’t anymore. Not really.”

“But you’ve got a lighter. And I saw the pack of cigarettes when you first came to my rescue like a knight in black leather armour,” Steve says, nudging into Bucky’s side as they trudge along the sidewalk.

Bucky lets out a soft laugh. “Well, I’d been trying to quit for a while. I guess making friends with you gave me a reason to,” he shrugs. “Can’t exactly smoke around an asthmatic, can I?”

Steve furrows his brow. “Well don’t let me hold you back, bud. If you wanna smoke, you smoke.”

“Are y’deaf?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. “I told you. I was looking for a way to stop anyways. So you’re not holding me back from anything, you punk,” he laughs, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders as they head towards the bar. Steve has a smile for the rest of the journey. 

 

* * *

 

 

Once they’re in the bar, they greet the others, and then Steve and Nat rush to grab their usual table, while Sam and Bucky go to purchase the first round.

“He’s sweet,” Natasha says, out of the blue. Steve’s been idly scratching at a splattering of red paint on his hand that’s been left there from his art class, and her words pull him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

 “Barnes. He’s sweet.”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking over towards the bar, where Sam’s thrown his head back in laughter, and Bucky is gesticulating wildly; one hand bare, one hand gloved. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess he is.”

“I’ll admit, you’re not his usual type. But if there was ever gonna be an exception, it was gonna be you.”

“What?” Steve turns his head back towards Natasha so fast, he almost pulls a muscle in his neck. “What are you talking about?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look on you, Rogers.” She folds her arms on the table in front of her, and looks over towards the bar. “He keeps looking back over here. Making sure you’re alright.”

“Probably because he thinks that if he turns his back for more than five minutes, I’ll get the shit kicked outta me in an alley somewhere,” Steve points out. “Doesn’t mean he’s interested.”

“Trust me. I know Barnes. And I know you. Better than you think, actually,” she shrugs.

He sighs softly. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you’re right.”

Natasha runs a hand through her scarlet hair, and rolls her eyes, still facing the bar.“I’m rarely wrong, Rogers. But if it’s a risk you’re willing to take, to ignore my kind words of wisdom, then don’t come crying to me when you find out I was right all along.” She turns her head to face Steve, and raises her voice a little. “Personally, my favourite captain was Janeway, but you’re totally entitled to your own opinion.”

Steve furrows his brow at her, confused about how and why the conversation has turned to _Star Trek_ , but then he notices that Sam and Bucky are approaching the table, and Natasha’s diversion suddenly makes sense. “Nah,” Sam says, as he sits down beside her, putting two glasses of amber liquid down on the table, “Picard’s where it’s at, man.”

Bucky looks horrified as he sits down, two further glasses in his hands. “Really? I leave you for five minutes and you’re all nerding out on me? What kind of friendship circle have I joined?”

“Welcome to the dork club,” Steve grins, taking one of the glasses off Bucky’s hands and patting the seat beside him. Bucky sinks down into it, almost gracefully, and lays his arm across the back of Steve’s chair, smiling at Steve as he does so.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“I’ll drink to anything,” Nat grunts.

“Shut up, Romanoff,” Sam says with a roll of his eyes, before lifting his glass into the air. “To being dorks. And to the newest member of the dork club.”

“To dorks,” Nat, Bucky, and Steve chorus, ascending their glasses too, before taking a hearty swig. Steve looks at Bucky as he drinks, only to find that Bucky’s looking right back at him, and suddenly he can’t stop thinking about what Natasha said. 

 

* * *

 

 

By the start of May, the weather is starting to get significantly hotter; girls are showing up to class in short shorts and tank tops, there’s an endless number of guys walking the streets with no shirts on, and Bucky is still dressed for the middle of winter. Every time Steve sees him (and for whatever reason, it’s not as often as it used to be), he’s wearing his black jeans and combat boots, his black leather jacket and his glove. The only variation of colour in his outfit is whatever t-shirt he throws on that day.

As mid-May creeps in, Bucky starts to do some of his work at home instead of coming onto the campus, and after asking Nat about it, it turns out that Bucky did this last summer too. Steve begins to think that maybe the heat is just too much for his friend, and perhaps he just prefers the air con of his apartment when the weather starts to get particularly hot.

He doesn’t ask questions, because he’s never been the type, but he _has_ been growing especially curious about the glove on his left hand.

“Maybe he’s a Michael Jackson impersonator,” Sam shrugs when Steve asks him and Nat about it one day. Steve just elbows him in the ribs.

“You’re an idiot,” Nat grunts. “But seriously. I have no idea why he wears it. Must be something important though, if he keeps the glove on all year round.”

“I kinda don’t wanna ask though. I mean, if it _is_ that important, then it’s probably not something he wants to talk about.”

“That’s up to him, Steve,” Sam says, clapping a hand on his back. “The least you can do is ask.” 

 

* * *

 

 

He decides that he’ll do his friend a favour, and he checks with Bucky’s subject teachers to see if there’s any work he’s forgotten to collect. Steve leaves the campus with an extra stack of paper in his messenger bag, and he climbs up all four flights of stairs to get to Bucky’s place.

“Hold on,” comes Bucky’s voice, when Steve knocks on the door. He sounds a little panicked, but Steve waits patiently for the door to open. Eventually it does, and Bucky’s stood there in shorts and a t-shirt, with his jacket and glove clumsily thrown on. His hair is down from its ponytail, a little flyaway in the June heat, and he’s panting. “Stevie,” he grins, as if there is nothing suspicious about this picture, and he steps aside. “Come in.”

“I uh... picked up any work you’d missed over the last week,” Steve says as he wanders into Bucky’s apartment, rifling through his bag to bring out all the papers, and he places them on Bucky’s kitchen counter. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, pal. You did me a favour, really,” Bucky smiles, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you been alright? I’ve not seen you in a while. I was starting to worry.”

Bucky shakes his head, brow furrowing. “No, I’m fine. I just don’t do so well in the heat.”

“What are you,” Steve laughs, “a vampire?”

Bucky’s face goes deadly serious for a moment. “How did you find out?” he asks, barely a whisper. Steve frowns for a moment, before Bucky’s mouth curves up at the corner, and he finds himself rolling his eyes. “Oh, wow. I nearly had you there.”

“Shut up.”

“You got an active imagination, if you believe in vampires, huh?”

“Well, it made sense. I’ve barely seen you since the sun started coming out every day,” Steve shrugs.

Bucky looks a little guilty at that, and moves his hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he says, almost a little too genuinely for Steve’s liking. He doesn’t like it when his friends are upset, and by the way Bucky’s voice is a little hoarse, he knows that he is.

“It’s alright, Buck,” says Steve. “I honestly don’t mind. I just... kinda... missed you. That’s all. Nothin’ too weird.”

Bucky manages a smile as he moves to sit on his couch, sweat already forming around the neckline of his t-shirt. “Missed you too, buddy,” he murmurs as Steve sits beside him.

“Y’know, you should probably take your damn jacket off. You’re gonna cook.”

“You tryna get me outta my clothes, Rogers?” Bucky smirks.

“You wish,” Steve mumbles. “It’s just... it’s like sixty degrees and it ain’t healthy to wear that many layers in this kinda heat.”

“I’m fine.”

“But-“

“-I said, its fine,” Bucky says, voice a little harsher than he means to be.

Steve nods. “Alright.”

The air hangs like static between them. It’s humid and uncomfortable and Steve feels like he’s already taken up too much of Bucky’s time, so he stands from the couch and wipes his palms on his jeans. “I should go.”

“It’s a burn,” Bucky says, looking down at the floor.

Steve frowns a little, confused. “What?”

He watches as Bucky’s chest rises and falls, a long and heavy sigh escaping from his lips. “The full length of my left arm. It’s a burn. Second degree. That’s why I cover it up. And it’s why I stay in the dorm in the summer. It’s too hot to wear my jacket, and it gets irritated in the heat anyways.”

Steve stands there for a moment, absolutely still. He looks at Bucky – the way he’s sitting hunched forward on his couch like he can’t get comfortable in his own home, his hands clasped together in front of him – and he suddenly feels both sadness and relief, and it’s the strangest combination. He opens his mouth to tell Bucky to show him, but he doesn’t need to, because he’s already taking his jacket off.

“Just so you know,” he says, “it’s pretty ugly.” He shrugs the jacket from his shoulders with a slight hiss, and Steve is greeted with the sight of Bucky’s bare arm for the first time. It looks to be a fairly old burn, seeing as it has a silvery sheen to it, like any scar or stretch mark, but it’s clear that it’s inflamed due to the constant wearing of the leather jacket.

 The burn looks irritated and angry, and the way it wraps itself down the length of Bucky’s arm, all the way from his shoulder to the back of his hand, almost looks like a serpent. Steve looks back to Bucky’s face, but he’s still staring at the ground. “I warned you.”

“It’s not ugly,” Steve murmurs, sitting down beside Bucky again.

“You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Your _best_ friend?” he repeats. “I won’t tell the others.” That manages to wrangle some kind of chuckle from the back of Bucky’s throat, and Steve feels his heart clench a little at the sound. He looks back down to the burn, and tentatively moves his hands towards it. “Can I-..?”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Gently.”

“I’m always gentle with you,” Steve says. Bucky looks up at him then, a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, and Steve can tell he’s starting to loosen up a little now.

He moves his hand to the underside of Bucky’s wrist, gently turning his arm over. The underside of his arm is more silvery and scar-like than the top, but it’s still clearly irritated where the seams of the jacket lie. “Does it always hurt?”

“Only in the summer. I have a cream for it, when it gets real bad,” Bucky shrugs.

Steve notices that the palm of Bucky’s hand is seemingly untouched. “No burn here?”

“No. Not sure why. It should have burned the same as the rest of it.” Bucky sees the way that Steve is looking at him, a question forming on his lips, and he answers it without it needing to be said. “House fire. I was fifteen. My sister and I got out, but our parents didn’t. And we got separated in the foster system, so I’ve no idea where she is now,” he sighs, and catching the sympathy gaze that Steve is giving him, he adds, “Cue violins, right?”

Steve smiles at that, and shakes his head. “You’re real brave, Buck,” he says, moving his hand from Bucky’s wrist to his fingers, and holding them carefully.

“I’ve met braver kids than me,” Bucky points out with a shrug of his right shoulder, a smile beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. “Like one time, there was this one kid who was getting the shit beaten outta him, and he couldn’t even breathe, but he was still managing to mouth off at this other guy,” he says, and Steve starts to grin. “Anyways, as tough as this kid was, turns out even he needed a little bit of help. And as bad as it sounds, I’m kinda glad he did, because otherwise I wouldn’t have had the courage to actually talk to him.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You say it like you knew me before.”

“I’d seen you in the library. Asked Nat about you a couple of times. I knew that you rented out _The Hobbit_ every so often. I took it out about a week before the fight.”

“What? Why?”

Bucky moves his burnt hand to interlock his fingers with Steve’s, his easy smile turning into a grin. “To put my number in the back.”

“...You defiled public property?”

“Really?” Bucky grunts, carding his free hand through his hair. “I just told you the extent I went to to get your attention, and you care more about the library book?” He looks at him for a solid ten seconds before he bursts out laughing; carefree, genuine laughter, so hard that tears nearly threaten to roll. “Jesus Christ, Steve. I think it’s testament to your character that you’re standing up for the rights of the library.”

“You wrote in a library book. They should sue you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and squeezes Steve’s hands. “Look, jerk, stop thinking about the library book. Do you like me or not?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Bucky. I brought you the school work you missed. I’m holding your hand. Do you think I do this with Sam? With Nat?”

“So... is that a yes?”

“God. For a guy who’s smart enough to study three subjects at the same time, you’re an absolute idiot,” he says, keeping his hand in Bucky’s as he moves the other to grasp Bucky’s dimpled chin, leaning in to press their lips together.

 It’s chaste, but it doesn’t stop Bucky from wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer. Within moments, it isn’t so chaste anymore, and Steve finds himself in Bucky’s lap, his hands in Bucky’s hair. There’s still a strong arm around his waist, and he begins to feel Bucky’s other arm curl around his middle too, before Bucky hisses and pulls his lips away.

“You alright?”

“Sorry. The arm gets irritated by scratchy clothes,” Bucky grumbles.

Steve looks at him for a minute, before a slow smirk spreads across his face. “I can fix that,” he murmurs, as he grabs his t-shirt from the back of his neck and tugs it over his head, throwing it across Bucky’s living room. “How’s that?”

Bucky licks his lips as he looks Steve up and down, tentatively placing his sore arm around him again. His mouth curls up at the corner, and he finally meets Steve’s eyes. “I think I can handle it.”

 

* * *

 

 

They graduate college at the end of June, and they arrange a kind of ‘Secret Santa’ so they can each buy one anonymous graduation present.

Nat gets Sam, and she buys him a _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ Starfleet uniform. He figures it out more or less straight away, and hugs her, telling her that he can finally live out his Picard dreams. (At the end of the night, after post-graduation drinks, Sam puts the shirt on over his clothes, takes a look at himself in the mirror, and cries tears of happiness.)

Sam gets Bucky, and he shows up to graduation with a genuine, bonafide pitchfork. With Bucky’s name etched into the side. (“I told you I’d come for you,” he grins as he passes it over. “You’re an idiot,” Bucky says, and hugs Sam anyway.)

Steve draws Natasha’s name, and he has absolutely no idea what to get her. She is the hardest person in the world to buy for. He settles for a box set of some TV show called _Arrow_. He’s never seen an episode in his life, but Nat’s got a thing about archers, and he’s sure she’ll love it. (She accepts the gift with a mumbled ‘thanks’ and a raised eyebrow, but when she gets Steve alone in the bar, she kisses his cheek and tells him that he’s her favourite.)

 

So Bucky, of course, gets Steve, and he saves his present until the end of the night, when they go back to the dorm for the last time. He hands him a parcel, so neatly wrapped that Steve is convinced he enlisted Nat’s help to do it. It takes Steve less than twenty seconds to unwrap it, and he grins so wide that Bucky is afraid he’s going to split his face in half.

“Calm down, pal,” he says, moving to wrap an arm around him. “You like it?”

“God, I love it. How did you even get this?”

“She was having a clear out. Let me take a few old copies. This was the only one I took.”

“It’s perfect,” Steve laughs, shaking his head as he leans up on his tiptoes to kiss Bucky’s jaw. “You’re perfect.” He puts his gift down, and pushes Bucky backwards onto the sofa, moving into his lap so he can kiss him properly.

 

There, on the coffee table sits an old, torn up copy of _The Hobbit_ , and right at the back, on the very last page, is the message:

 

_555-784-3298_

_To Steve,_

_Call me._

_ <3_

               

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I wasn't sure what to do with Bucky's arm so I made it a burn just to help with the whole Modern AU thing.
> 
> 2\. I chose 'The Hobbit' a) because it's brilliant, and b) because it was published in the 30's so even if this was canon compliant and was actually set in the 40's, Steve would have been a massive Tolkien nerd.
> 
> 3\. Title comes from the song 'Do Me A Favour' by Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> 4\. Hit me up on tumblr [here](http://peachkeeping.tumblr.com/), or twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Dev_Riot).


End file.
